


you don't have to believe it for it to be true

by revoleotion



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: (nothing specific), Asmodeus needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Mention of Eating Disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revoleotion/pseuds/revoleotion
Summary: “You’re up early,” Asmodeus forces himself to say when the pressure on his chest becomes unbearable. He loves to talk, that’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not the only reason he says something. If he allows himself to have this, to enjoy this, he might get used to it. He’s not a burden he wants Barbatos to carry. He doesn’t want to become a part of this, he doesn’t want Barbatos to feel forced to share his private, personal routine with him. His existence in this space is wrong, he’s not supposed to share this, and if it weren’t so damn impolite to decline the offer, he wouldn’t even be here in the first place.That’s not all.Maybe Asmodeus is selfish. Maybe the real reason he accepted was that he craved the illusion of belonging.
Relationships: Asmodeus & Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	you don't have to believe it for it to be true

**Author's Note:**

> I already put it in the tags but I will put another warning in here: This text deals with eating disorders. I did not go into detail but it shows up in both the dialogue and Asmodeus' inner monologue. Be careful and stay safe!

He doesn’t notice he’s fidgeting with his hands until Barbatos puts the mug down in front of him. Asmodeus expected tea, so the scent of coffee is a surprise that pulls him out of his anxiety and allows an empty slot of emotions to take its place, waiting for another feeling in his chest to fill the void. 

“I wasn’t sure how you drink it,” Barbatos says. 

“Black is fine,” Asmodeus replies. He can’t remember the last time he put anything into his coffee. He doesn’t like it this way, he isn’t sure if anyone truly likes black coffee unless there’s some Stockholm-Syndrome involved, but he can’t bring himself to change his habit. 

Barbatos nods, clearly happy to be of service, and pulls his own mug closer to him to pour milk into it. No sugar, Asmodeus notices, but the milk comes as a surprise as well. He has always believed that Barbatos hates coffee. But the way he prepares it has a personal touch to it, it’s different than just preparing it for someone you’re close to. And as far as Asmodeus remembers, Diavolo takes his coffee with sugar and flavored syrup, which means that Barbatos’ habit belongs to him and him alone. He’s not copying his Lord or Asmodeus. 

It’s private. 

“You’re up early,” Asmodeus forces himself to say when the pressure on his chest becomes unbearable. He loves to talk, that’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not the only reason he says something. If he allows himself to have this, to enjoy this, he might get used to it. He’s not a burden he wants Barbatos to carry. He doesn’t want to become a part of this, he doesn’t want Barbatos to feel forced to share his private, personal routine with him. His existence in this space is wrong, he’s not supposed to share this, and if it weren’t so damn impolite to decline the offer, he wouldn’t even be here in the first place. 

That’s not all. 

Maybe Asmodeus is selfish. Maybe the real reason he accepted was that he craved the illusion of belonging. 

A demon’s hospitality is so different from humans or angels. Or at least that’s how Asmodeus feels about Lucifer, that saying No is never an option. He has become so used to agreeing to everything, to never really protest, to feel like his opinion is neither needed nor wanted. 

It doesn’t do Barbatos justice to compare his invitation to an invitation from Lucifer or any other demon, though. Barbatos has never felt like a typical demon. He’s too passive, too careful, too loyal. He smiles when he’s angry, he makes a step back when he wants to fight. 

Maybe Asmodeus is selfish - because he’s an intruder, he’s spying on a part of Barbatos nobody else gets to see. The longer he stares at Barbatos mug and the black and white chess pattern on it, the more disgusting he feels for wanting to destroy this. Make Barbatos regret inviting him in the first place. Ruin any chance of repeating this. Never get to see Barbatos pour milk into his coffee ever again. 

“Ah,” Barbatos says, and it seems like only a few seconds have passed since Asmodeus spoke up but an eternity at the same time. “I have the habit of getting up early because I enjoy having this time to myself.”

“4am, Barbatos’ hour,” Asmodeus jokes.

“You could say that,” the demon replies, the kindness not once leaving his voice. Asmodeus never once heard him yell. 

“So, what do you do at 4am if I’m not here to bother you?”

“You’re not bothering me,” Barbatos says. Matter of fact. He’s not one for flattery, that’s Diavolo’s strength. Barbatos doesn’t start fights but he’s brutally honest, with both criticism and compliments. 

“I’m a joy to be around, I know, I know. Feels nice to hear you say it, though,” Asmodeus says to keep up at least some of his reputation. Barbatos smiles but it’s obvious that he’s not easily fooled. 

If he weren’t so used to this, Asmodeus would feel bad for playing this game during Barbatos’ sacred 4am-self-care-time. 

“I reply to my messages, anything that wasn’t urgent during the day,” Barbatos says - and it takes Asmodeus’ brain a few seconds to realize that he’s answering a question he didn’t mean all that seriously. “Recently, I have been devoting a lot of time to reading the research papers on sexuality that Solomon forwarded to me.”

“Papers?” Asmodeus asks. He chokes on his question. His empty stomach is burning with pain, not hunger, not exactly, something closer to guilt. How dare he take this time away from Barbatos?

The demon looks up from his chess-pattern-mug and frowns slightly as if he was able to read Asmodeus’ thoughts. Maybe his expression was more obvious than he wanted it to be. 

“Please do not think you are keeping me from doing anything I want to do. I actually really enjoy talking to you.”

Asmodeus wraps his hands around the mug but doesn’t lift it yet. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t understand why you invited me,” Asmodeus says. “I mean, unless you’re just pitying me but you don’t seem like the person to do that.”

“What should I pity you for?” Barbatos asks. Asmodeus wonders if his confusion is honest. But this is Barbatos. Barbatos knows everything. He owns this reality, he chose it. Sometimes Asmodeus wonders if Barbatos has seen realities where he wasn’t like this, or if this is a curse that will follow him wherever he goes. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it.” Asmodeus lifts an eyebrow and lets go of his mug when his hands twitch. He curls them to fists and looks down on his lap to avoid Barbatos’ all-knowing eyes. “I am on a diet, currently, actually.”

He doesn’t get a reply. When he looks up, Barbatos eyes are fixed on him. He nods, once, as if to signal him to keep on talking. 

“That’s all,” Asmodeus snaps. 

Barbatos doesn’t even flinch. He picks up his mug and takes a big sip of his coffee, swallows it and puts the mug down again. 

“You think I’m going to pity you because you are on a diet?” Barbatos asks softly. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. Nobody does!” Asmodeus inhales and forces his anger to stay right where it is, burning right next to the guilt in his stomach. “I… I asked Satan to help me.”

He’s spilling over. He doesn’t know why, why Barbatos and not Solomon who he should’ve called right when the entire thing happened. Why Barbatos, a demon who has no obligation to be kind to him or to listen to him. Why unpack the entire situation in front of Barbatos, during his precious alone-time? Why can’t Asmodeus be quiet for once? Why can’t he just… 

“I assume his assistance didn’t work out the way you wanted to?” Barbatos interrupts his thoughts. 

Asmodeus’ attention snaps back to him. Barbatos has placed both of his arms on the table, he’s leaning closer like he’s afraid to miss a detail, a reaction, from Asmodeus if he looks away. Being perceived like this should be uncomfortable but it’s comforting that Barbatos refuses to look away. Both literally and figuratively. The others are always so quick to look away, aren’t they?

“It’s something he said, actually,” Asmodeus says, why does he keep talking?

Barbatos tilts his head. He doesn’t ask, which is nice because Asmodeus isn’t sure if he could repeat Satan’s words, even if he wanted to. 

“It never works,” he continues. There’s no use in trying to shut up. “All I do is think about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. But I never do anything about it. It’s like it’s poisoning my head and nobody sees it. It feels like I’m slowly rotting away but all the others see is someone who doesn’t try at all.”

His next breath is a shaky one but if Barbatos notices that he’s crying, he doesn’t comment on it. He’s silent for a few seconds but the smile has disappeared from his feminine features. Barbatos has a face Asmodeus would murder for and right now it’s tinted with an emotion Asmodeus has never seen on him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that it’s anger. 

“What would happen if you gave up on it?” Barbatos finally asks. 

“I can’t just do that! I have my followers, my modeling business, I need to fit into-” Asmodeus rests his elbows on the table and presses his fists to his forehead. 

“I trusted him!” he says loudly. “I trusted him and now I can’t look at anything to eat without hearing his voice inside my head! It’s not fair!”

He can hear Barbatos taking a deep breath. It’s about the same level as anger that Asmodeus saw when they all attempted to kidnap the human to prevent them from going back home. In hindsight, this had been an extremely stupid idea, and Barbatos hadn’t been nearly as angry as he could’ve been. If this is the maximum level of anger he allows himself to express, this is the equivalent to Satan smashing that table into pieces when his favorite book series got discontinued. 

“I’m sorry this happened,” Barbatos says after a few silent seconds. “I am aware that this will not solve this but I am still sorry.”

Asmodeus nods. He’s right, it doesn’t fix the problem. It doesn’t make him feel any better. Or perhaps it does, a little bit. 

“I see you,” the demon continues and smiles a little when Asmodeus lifts his head and looks at him like he has spontaneously turned into a potted plant. “You said that it feels like none of us see it. I do. And I am sorry that it feels like you are alone with it.”

Asmodeus can tell that he’s being genuine. He picks up his mug and takes a few sips, the coffee bitter and heavy on his tongue. 

“I don’t like black coffee,” he admits, not sure why he says it. 

“I can get you some sweetener if you want? Or milk, I also have non-dairy-”

“Milk is fine,” Asmodeus interrupts him. “I want to try it the way you do. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Barbatos pushes the milk carton towards him. Asmodeus picks it up, surprised that his hands don’t tremble while he pours a bit into the black coffee until the color changes into a creamy beige. 

He takes a sip. It’s astounding how much the taste of something can change with just one more ingredient added to it. Asmodeus has to stop himself from finishing his entire cup at once. He’s smiling when he puts the mug down again. 

“I take it, that's better?” Barbatos asks. 

“Yes. Of course I can’t always do that, but-”

“Why not?”

Asmodeus chuckles, like the answer is obvious. 

“I can’t just get used to nice things like that.”

Barbatos doesn’t repeat his question but it’s in the air, an offer to talk, not an obligation. 

“I can’t. Not until I’m…” He’s not sure how to end his sentence. Skinny? Perfect? It feels wrong to say it out loud, in the silence of Barbatos’ private time, after having a breakdown in front of him. 

“I can’t,” Asmodeus repeats. “I’ll do it this time. Just once.”

“That’s alright,” Barbatos says. “You deserve to have things that you like.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe it for it to be true,” Barbatos replies. It’s maybe the most honest thing he has said this morning, Asmodeus can tell. No, not honest, that’s the wrong word. Vulnerable. There’s a difference between stating a fact and sharing something that makes Asmodeus wonder if there’s more to Barbatos than he has expected. 

He wonders, how long did it take Barbatos to accept that he likes his coffee like this? 

Barbatos, who never felt like a full person, just an afterthought after Lord Diavolo. Barbatos, who is so powerful but spends his days serving tea and sorting through documents, Barbatos who has one hour to be himself before his duties start again?

“Okay,” Asmodeus says quietly. “But only when I’m with you. Alright?”

Barbatos nods. “I can accept those terms. Whenever you feel like it, I will have coffee and milk ready for you.”

“Deal,” Asmodeus whispers. 

They don’t talk a lot after this. Barbatos replies to a few messages, Asmodeus watches his side profile as he types his replies, a lot quicker than he would have expected from someone who rarely uses his D.D.D. He catches a smile, when Barbatos is reading a text from Solomon. 

Asmodeus finishes his coffee. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not to be dramatic but I love to write about the parallels of Barbatos and Asmodeus who both have to accept that they deserve more than they think they do. That's all, thank you. 
> 
> I got most of my inspiration from a comic Fiona showed me, I think it's the canon obey me manga/comic where Asmodeus asks Satan for help with dieting and he hints that he's going to be very cruel about it, which I got very sad and angry about....... so that's that.


End file.
